


for luck

by jaimelanniser



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 21:39:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12021555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimelanniser/pseuds/jaimelanniser
Summary: "They say it’s good luck. When you see one this perfect, you have to catch it. You kiss it and you let it melt into your lips and it’s supposed to keep you alive through winter."





	for luck

It had started snowing, and Brienne had eventually needed to step off the courtyard where she’d been sparring with Pod in order to go inside where the snow wouldn’t get under her armour.

She was wiping off Oathkeeper when a shadow loomed ahead and she snapped her face up to see who was the intruder. The sight of a massive red beard made her roll her eyes and turn her eyes back to her sword. “Can I help you?”

Tormund Giantsbane walked up to her with that same look in his eyes, the one that sent shivers down her spine when she allowed herself to think about what it meant. What he  _wanted_.

It was easier not to think about it.

“That’s a nice sword,” he observed, motioning at Oathkeeper.  _Yes, of course it was a nice sword,_  Brienne thought sarcastically. “Pretty one,” Tormund added.

She didn’t respond, but sheathed it instead, and stood up straight to face him. It was then that she realized he was holding out a gloved hand in front of him. Frowning, she turned her face down to it. There was nothing in it. Did he expect her to… take it?

“What are you doing?” she asked him, exasperated.

Tormund beckoned her with his other hand, and pointed at the palm extended towards her. She raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Look closer,” he insisted.

Brienne was not a trusting person by nature, particularly of men, and even more particularly of relative strangers. The relative she added grudgingly, because it  _had_  been several months that she’d been acquainted with the wildling. So she didn’t move. “There’s nothing in your hand.”

“Aye, there is,” he told her, and held his hand nearer to her. Brienne had to resist the urge to step back. “It fell right there as I was checking to see the strength of the fall.”

Curiosity getting the best of her in the end, she squinted at the leatherskin glove and finally made out what he was talking about; there, in the middle of his hand, was a snowflake. Like the ones in picture books, the ones she used to draw as a child when referring to winter, perfectly symmetrical on all sides. With crisscrosses, delicate and white, and perfectly frozen into this giant’s hand.

“It’s a snowflake,” she noticed, obviously, and turned her eyes up towards his. The look had gone from his eyes, and he looked almost normal now, just a man.

How a man, tall and large and rough as he was, could hold something this delicate in his hand, was beyond her, but here he was. It was almost… naively sweet.

“They say it’s good luck,” Tormund continued. “When you see one this perfect, you have to catch it. You kiss it and you let it melt into your lips and it’s supposed to keep you alive through winter.”

Brienne had never heard of such a thing, but then again, he was from far beyond the Wall, and his customs were completely foreign to her. It seemed impolite to laugh, so she didn’t. She merely watched him.

“Well, I thought,” he shrugged, and she could see, even in the darkness of winter, that his cheeks were red. “If any of us ought to make it out of this godforsaken season, it should be you.”

Oh. Brienne felt her own cheeks redden at that. It was as close to a declaration as anyone had ever come. Her mind annoyingly screamed  _‘it will always be yours’_  at her, but she quickly shut it off as she usually did.

This man was weird, and his fixation on her bordered on creepy sometimes, but at this moment, Brienne could only find him terribly endearing. It was almost enough for her to drop her guard.

The honourable thing to do was to accept his gift, she supposed. It was a thoughtful gift, and she could not pretend that she didn’t feel warm inside. “Thank you,” she said, shortly but meaningfully. And, trying not to think too hard about what she was doing, she quickly leaned forward to press her lips to the snowflake.

It was cold against her mouth and in an instant, it had melted into a few droplets of water that gathered at the base of her mouth. She pressed her lips together. “You are a good man, Tormund. There are not many good men, but you are one of them.”

Tormund dropped his hand to his side and nodded, gruffly, smiling. And Brienne, as silly and weird as this all was, smiled back.


End file.
